


Shut Up Again

by Elphabuddy



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Angst, Books, Grief, Reading, Suicide, Toxic Relationship, Toxic friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22577539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphabuddy/pseuds/Elphabuddy
Summary: Heather Duke gets a new book.
Relationships: Heather Duke & Heather Chandler
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	Shut Up Again

**Author's Note:**

> TW Suicide

Heather Duke groggily grasps her padlock to open her locker when an alarm pulses through her. It's been left at 17, the very last number of her combo. She does not leave it at any number but 0. She always turns it back to 0, always. Someone has been in her locker.

She hastily spins her combo and clicks it open. Nothing seems out of place other than the heavily read copy of The Bell Jar on top of the rest of her stuff. She is certain that it isn’t hers since she doesn’t own it and, even if she did, would never treat a book as roughly as this one has been treated in its lifetime. Its spine has creases in multiple places, its pages have a coffee stain at the top corner, and there is what appears to be nail polish dripped on the back cover. 

She opens it and finds a sentence for her written in delicate, red scrawl on the first page, right above the title.

_Heather_

_I hope that you get everything from this book that it's given me._

Red ink and the signature swirl at the top of the capital H in her name, their shared name? Heather instantly identifies the original owner. She slides it into her backpack carefully, making sure it's hidden and safe, deep at the bottom before she zips her bag up, and jogs off to her next class.

***

Chandler drops her tray noisily and sits across the table from Heather. The girl in red attempts to open her juice cup with some difficulty. It sloshes around with her vicious yank at the foil on top and a bit of the purple fluid spills onto her blouse. She swears under her breath as she blots at the sugary drink.

Heather hears the ruckus her counterpart is making, briefly glancing up from her copy of Moby Dick. "I have a spare shirt if you need it," she deadpans.

"As if your clothes would ever fit me," Chandler huffs incredulity. Heather begins to open her mouth to defend herself when her friend looks up and clarifies what she really means. "No, I'm not calling you fat. A blouse for you is a crop top for me. I will never understand how someone can be so short yet have so much leg in comparison to their body."

Heather crosses her arms indignantly. "Sorry we can't all be as pristinely gorgeous as you," she snarks, looking pointedly at the stain on the girl’s shirt.

"Didn't say you were ugly."

"You didn't say I wasn't either."

Chandler rolls her eyes. "Shut up, Heather," she huffs.

"Sorry, Heather," Heather sneers, "by the way, what's up with the book?"

"What book?" Chandler drones lazily as she buttons her crimson blazer to successfully cover the bold aubergine spot.

"The Bell Jar? You put it in my locker and left me a note in it? Does any of that ring a bell?"

"I've never even heard of that book. Are you sure V isn't fucking us? After all, you said there was a note in it and she can forge all of our handwriting" Chandler speculates roughly.

"I guess. Whatever. Sorry for bothering you, Heather," Heather mumbles passively. 

"Don't be such a pillowcase. I don't care." Chandler pauses a moment and messes with her sandwich. "Are you still going to read it even if it wasn’t me?"

Insecurity seeps into her usually confident tone. A strange kind of hope twitches in her eyes when she looks up at her. She drums her fingernails against the table as she waits for her answer.

Heather knows Chandler is lying to her about who gave it to her but she doesn’t give a shit. She’d read it no matter what. Hell, if Sweeney gave her a book, she’d probably still read it. A new book is a new book and she isn’t in the habit of looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Heather nods once. Chandler instantly regains her normal facade of indifference and cruelty as she begins to discuss the next lunchtime poll. She states that she’s going to keep it simple this time and ask what people would eat for their last meal if they were incorrectly placed on death row. Heather believes it’s depressing but doesn’t speak up about it.

What’s the point? She’ll just be blown off and get told to shut up. Loudly and in front of the entire caf this time. She isn’t about to deal with that kind of embarrassment for absolutely no pay off.

Chandler preps her list as they wait for the rest of their group to arrive. When their newest member walks up, she gathers her clipboard and hops up to leave with Veronica to do their regular polling routine while McNamara hangs back with Heather during her lunch.

Heather ignores the uncomfortable churn of her gut that tells her that something about that conversation was very wrong. She watches them make their way around the caf and she can’t shake the feeling that she won’t see them do this again.

Don’t be absurd, she tells herself. It’s Heather fucking Chandler she’s talking about.

She is solid teflon.

She is untouchable.

She is the almighty.

She is fine.

Everything is fine.

She repeats her mantra until she begins to believe it herself.

She is fine. Everything is fine. She is fine. Everything is fine. She is fine. Everything is fine. She is fine. She is fine. She is fine.

***

Not even a week later, Heather learns why her friend wanted her to read her book. She finishes it on the Sunday after she acquired it and tries to call Chandler about it the moment that she reads the last sentence.

She receives no answer.

There will never be an answer.

As Heather stands at the grave of her friend, she clutches the book tight against her chest. It rests over her heart as her entire being screams at her for not pointing out how grim her polls were getting, for not asking about the glaringly obvious signs that she was beginning to notice, for not finishing the book that’s cradled against her torso just one day sooner. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: elphabuddy  
> 


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